


The Worst In Me

by tokidokifish



Category: Psych
Genre: ALTERNATE UNIVERSE I GUESS, Look At Your Life Look At Your Choices, M/M, kinda sorta PWP, sex is the worst place for uncomfortable realizations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:18:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokidokifish/pseuds/tokidokifish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lassiter may have, at one point, had extensive issues – possibly <em>subscriptions</em> – with the idea of admitting, even to just himself, that he finds Shawn Spencer attractive. But Spencer is something of a force of nature, and there are certain inescapable truths that Lassiter’s learned to resign himself to as long as the department wants to continue using the so-called psychic. The first among them is that the more Lassiter tries to deny or avoid something, the more out of his way Spencer will go to make that something his new toy for the week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Worst In Me

**Author's Note:**

> I WATCHED TWO SEASONS OF PSYCH, WROTE A FANFIC, AND THEN DIDN'T WATCH ANYMORE AT ALL, BECAUSE I FAIL AT FANDOM. So, uh, I guess what I'm going for here is: I've read enough on Wikipedia to know this does not adhere to canon. 
> 
> Also I've kept this under wraps for a WHIIIIIIILE so, uh. Sorry if it's... shitty...? But I feel like making some bad decisions and people are curious so here we go.

Shawn Spencer is attractive; Lassiter is man enough to admit that without reservation. After all, Spencer’s frankly disturbingly high success rate with women – and the occasional man – doesn’t rely completely on charm (at least that’s what people who aren’t Lassiter call it) and his ability to notice, and become, whatever his newest companion would look for in a potential mate.

On the other hand, Lassiter may have, at one point, had extensive issues – possibly _subscriptions_ – with the idea of admitting, even to just himself, that _he_ finds Shawn Spencer attractive. But Spencer is something of a force of nature, and there are certain inescapable truths that Lassiter’s learned to resign himself to as long as the department wants to continue using the so-called psychic. The first among them in his mind, underlined, italicized, and bolded, is that the more Lassiter tries to deny or avoid something, the more out of his way Spencer will go to make that something his new toy for the week (like the snow globe thing, the fucking snow globes).  And the spirit quails at what Spencer would do if he discovered one of those things was Lassiter’s attraction to him; it simply doesn’t bear thinking about.

So Lassiter admitted it to himself – grudgingly, so… very… grudgingly – and promptly moved on. Because as attractive as he is, everything _else_ about Shawn Spencer rubs Lassiter exactly the wrong way. His theatrics, his immaturity… the way he had wormed his way into the department and their lives. At this point Lassiter is no more surprised to see Spencer at the station than O’Hara, and that’s infuriating. Sometimes he even catches himself using that ridiculous Lassie nickname that’s so caught on in the department in his own head, and that is _absolutely awful_. And of course the fact that he had never managed to figure Spencer out – Lassiter knows the psychic story is bullshit, _knows it_ , but he’s still yet to figure out what Spencer’s real trick _is_. The mystery remains in the back of his mind, grating at him when they discover Spencer at crime scenes and as they follow leads, and he’s never serious, never _turns off_ , but he’s still almost always one step ahead and grinning.  

Lassiter is most certainly not jealous for all the wrong reasons when he discovers O’Hara and Spencer are a couple, and he is absolutely not relieved when they amicably break-up after a few months. The urge to strangle Spencer always outweighs Lassiter’s secret, somewhat guilty urge to do a number of equally improper but extensively more pleasant things to him.

The problem is, Shawn Spencer is also good with a gun.

 

 

“You’re curious!” Spencer says, grinning. “It’s gonna drive you crazy if you don’t know for sure; I can read you like a _book_ , Lassie. But I’ll only do it if I can use your gun.”

Lucinda had told him, once, that Spencer was a crack shot, but it was in the middle of the McCallum case and she was transferred almost directly after, so Lassiter really hadn’t had a lot of attention to spare for that tidbit of information. But now he’s standing in the gun range, on Chief Vick’s orders, eyeing Shawn Spencer and remembering the last time he let someone touch his gun. But it’s been a long week – filled with gunfire, actually, and that’s why they’re here – and so he just forfeits the usual battle of wills and hands over his sidearm.

Though that hardly means he does it quietly. “I swear to God, Spencer – that’s not a toy; if you do ANYTHING–“

“Your faith in me is absolutely touching, Lassie; no, seriously! I think I might need a tissue,” Spencer replies, still smirking as he turns to the target Lassiter had been using. As flippant as he sounds, Lassiter can tell immediately that the slight honest concern he’s playing up isn’t necessary – because Spencer knows how to use a gun. It’s evident in his stance, in his grip, in the way he treats the weapon, and it’s so ridiculously _natural_ , like he’s been doing this for years instead of flailing around pretending to be a psychic. Lassiter knows before the target comes back that Spencer’s replicated that little trick Lucinda told him about, matching Lassiter’s bullet holes; he doesn’t even have to look.

But he does, and there is absolutely no goddamn reason this whole situation should go _straight_ to his dick. Spencer notices it so fast that Lassiter is inclined to think the so-called psychic _expected_ it.

“Oh my God,” he begins, delighted, “that _turned you on_ , you kinky –”

And that’s how Carlton Lassiter comes to have Shawn Spencer shoved up against a wall with his tongue down his throat.

 

\---

 

Events follow quite naturally until Carlton Lassiter also has Shawn Spencer handcuffed to his bed.

(By the time Lassiter’s brain had caught up with his libido at the gun range, Spencer already had his fingers in the Head Detective’s hair, and the sounds he was making were all approval and encouragement and really just making the situation that much worse (though the fact Lassiter had gotten a hand up Spencer’s shirt probably wasn’t helping matters, either). At that point, what common sense Lassiter had left had taken a good long look at the situation and finally declared “fuck it.”)

The whole thing has been actually something of a revelation; if Lassiter had known it was this easy to get Spencer to shut up, he would have employed the method ages ago. And if he had known all it had taken to strip that cocky persona away and leave Spencer _practically mewling_ in the detective’s bed was a couple pairs of handcuffs and a few fingers, Lassiter would have done _that_ even sooner.

Apparently he’s discovered the one place Shawn will use his given name, when he can manage that many syllables.

Lassiter waits until he has Shawn not only completely at his mercy but also beautifully opened up with three fingers before he lifts his head, leaving the psychic bereft. He stretches up as if for a kiss but stops too soon and murmurs instead, “I think you owe me some honesty, Spencer.”

Shawn blinks. And then he does it again, a few times, obviously groping for focus until he manages, “… Seriously? _Now_?”

“Why _not_ now?” Lassiter asks, voice even, as if he isn’t completely naked in bed with a man who – until this afternoon – he would have sworn up and down was his bitter rival and chief annoyance and absolutely nothing more. “I’m not incredibly inclined to continue… whatever this may be with someone that’s _lying_ _to me_.” THAT, of all things – the implication that this could be more than a temporary loss of sanity cumulating in a one-night stand – is enough to cause a bit of a blush. It also manages to make Shawn smile in a way that Lassiter doesn’t want to analyze, at the moment, because that would also mean taking a long hard look at why that expression makes something tighten fondly in his chest. He focuses on their current situation, which is, in comparison, simple.

“I’m also somewhat curious to see if you can come from just this, so it’s really a win-win situation for me.” He twists his fingers, and Shawn makes a very interesting noise ending in a curse as Lassiter continues. “You’re not a damned psychic, Spencer, but I can’t figure out what you _are_ , how you’re so fucking brilliant –” Shawn makes another noise, one that makes Lassiter look at him, blinking once. “You’re _surprised_?”

“It. It’s been a surprising day,” the faux-psychic manages, looking more than a little dazed. “Just don’t hear that very often.”

 _Oh_ , Lassiter thinks, and then, **_oh_**. Because “psychic visions” aren’t detective work, and Guster was far too used to dealing with Shawn to be impressed by him, and Lassiter had met Henry Spencer; “satisfactory” was probably what passed for approval in that household. It abruptly occurs to the detective that perhaps the reason Shawn is so cocky and self-congratulatory is simply because he had gotten used to no one _else_ praising him. Almost immediately afterwards, Lassiter discovers that in the middle of sex is officially the last place he wants to make uncomfortable realizations.

Shawn ends up telling him something about eidetic memory and observation and “I’ll explain later, Lassie, just please, _please_ fuck me.”  When Lassiter does, he takes his time, murmuring his appreciation against damp skin.

 

 

“You could have just _asked_ ,” Spencer says, afterwards, curled up against Lassiter’s chest. “You know. Before. Or after, I guess.” He waves a hand around lethargically and then lets it flop back down. “I would have told you the truth.”

Apparently sex is _also_ one of the few things that can make Spencer sit still, and Lassiter finds himself practically delighted at the prospect of using it in the future. The fact that yes, he is most definitely thinking of this in terms of something that has a future is something that Lassiter is not altogether ready to address, yet, however.

“I know,” is what he admits, instead. “… this was a lot more fun, though.”

He can feel Spencer grinning, a little, against his chest. “What’d I say? Kinky. Seriously kinky, Lassie.”

Somewhat to his surprise – but not as much as he would like, honestly – Lassiter finds himself grinning, too, as he slides his fingers through Shawn’s hair. “You always have brought out the worst in me, Spencer.” 


End file.
